Footprints
by Tardistheiftennent
Summary: Tony is fed up and Peter is a problematic fav. (Set after A Heart of Iron, but you don't need to have read it.)


**Just a short one-shot I've been sitting on for a while. Enjoy!**

Tony put up with a lot of crap on a daily basis. After all, the Avengers were basically toddlers. Ask anyone who lived in the space as them, and you would know. Tony would deal with coffee grounds in the sink, knives hidden in the couch, and even Captain America action figures in the ice machine. He had long ago resigned to the less than normal habits of his superhero roommates.

Still, on occasion, he would find something so baffling, so uncalled for, even he would be left shaking his head in either exasperation or awe. Maybe both.

"Peter!" Tony called out for the teen as he tapped his foot impatiently. Peter was, fortunately, in the kitchen making a sandwich. At Tony's call, he rushed out, looking too much like an excited puppy to be fair.

Peter made his way over to the inventor, bouncing with every step, and already talking a mile a minute. "What is it? Did something happen? Do I need my suit? I can go get it, I was just refilling the web cartridges a minute ago and-"

"No, no, nothing like that." Tony waved a hand in annoyance, then gestured to the ceiling. "Tell me, would you happen to know who could have done _that_?"

Peter looked up to find something that, for anyone else, should have been shocking. Hand and footprints marked a trail across the living room ceiling, starting at the window and heading around a corner toward the bathroom.

"Well?"

Peter looked Tony in the eye and said, straight faced, "Clint did it."

"Peter, why are there footprints on my ceiling? We've talked about this."

"Listen, there was this fire and the soot got everywhere, and there's not exactly a place to wipe your feet outside a window on the ninetieth floor-"

"This isn't the first time, Peter!" Tony threw his hands in the air, "Just last week you tracked blood _all over the place_ -"

"I didn't realize my foot was cut!"

" _Three floors_ , Peter. You walked all over the ceiling, walls, and floors on three different levels before somebody stopped you!"

"I-"

"People mop the floors, but come on! I don't think anyone but you can even _reach_ the ceiling. Plus, blood is super unsanitary, and you freaked out Bruce-"

"Seriously, I just didn't realize."

Tony leveled a glare at him. Peter, in all of his teenage glory, glared back.

Tony let out a groan and rubbed his face, "You know, when they told me a kid would be messy, I don't think I really expected to have a problem with webs always hanging everywhere and footprints on the walls. Maybe fingerprints, but-"

"I'm really sorry, Tony, I'll clean it up." Peter said earnestly.

Tony was about to go on with his rant about Peter's subpar housekeeping, but paused at the kid's words. He studied him, his fingers nervously fiddling with the hem of his too-big hoodie, eyes downcast. In fact, he just generally looked like a kicked puppy.

Damn. That made Tony the guy that kicked a puppy.

He sighed once more, "Whatever, I know you'll clean it up, kid. Just try to be more careful next time, okay?"

Peter nodded so enthusiastically, it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash. "Yeah, of course."

Tony nodded as well, at a much more reasonable pace. He knew where this was coming from. After all, Peter was still a pretty new addition to the family. Sometimes he would get nervous like this, and stress about doing something to make somebody regret bringing him in. There wasn't much Tony could do about that worry, but he'd be damned if it didn't break his heart..

He sighed, "Okay, good. While you do that, I'm gonna go into the kitchen and eat your sandwich. All of this parenting has worked up my appetite."

"Hey, no way!"

"Yes way." Tony grinned as Peter tried to rush past him into the kitchen to rescue his lunch, but Tony was one step ahead of the kid, as he was fueled by the fact that Peter made freaking awesome sandwiches.

* * *

The next night, when Peter came back from patrol, there was something hanging above his usual window on the ninetieth floor.

A plain, black and brown mat, proudly proclaiming one simple word.

Welcome.

Peter smiled as he wiped his muddy feet over the text and crept cleanly into his home.


End file.
